


Fallen Flames

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hugs, Non-Consensual Hair-Cutting, Sleepy Bifur, Óin Being Awesome, Óin Helps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 05:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, Mahal."</p>
<p>Glóin blinked at his eldest cousin who was staring at him as though he'd grown an extra head. "What?"</p>
<p>"Glóin. Your.. Your hair."</p>
<p>There was a silence. Then  Óin spoke. "What about his hair?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fallen Flames

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AI07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AI07/gifts), [Bofur1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/gifts).



Praise Mahal. They were free at last! No longer near Goblins or Orcs. One of them had come worryingly close with a blade to his little brother's head, but Óin was certain no harm had come of it.

Speaking of his little brother...

"Come, lad, let's have a look at you."

"I'm fine," Glóin began to argue. He swiftly changed his mind at the 'don't-you-start-now' look  Óin sent him and shuffled obediently over.

There was a strangled gasp. Óin looked sharply up, worried someone might be choking on something, but there were no such casualties. Though, Balin looked horrified about something. "What is it, cousin?"

"Glóin.  Your.. _Your_ _hair_."

There was a silence.

Then Óin spoke. "What about his hair?"

Glóin looked frightened and it tore at his heart. Moving behind his brother, he, too, gasped. Where once flowing red had spilled to his lower back, now half stopped at his shoulder-blades, whereas the other half continued its descent. That Goblin _had_ come too close. Óin shakily grasped the short hair and lightly tugged it as though hoping he could make it grow by even a feeble force.

It remained short.

"Óin. Please tell me it's only an inch or so." 

"Oh, nadadith. I'm _sorry_."

Glóin turned to face him. He was wearing the same expression he'd worn as a beardling, pleading with him to _please_ find a way to make it better, use his powers as a big brother to help. 

"It'll grow," he promised. "It'll grow."

"How short?"

"Not too short. It'll be back to normal in a matter of months..."

" _Months_? How short is it, Óin?"

Wordlessly, Óin brought his hand to where the sheared part ended. Glóin groaned, letting his face fall into his hands.

"Come, laddie, don't despair.."

"You don't understand! _Your_ hair is the _exact same length!_ I haven't had my hair this short since I was sixty two!"

"You have your beard. And you know it will grow back soon enough."

"What's Neoma going to say?"

"She'll say nothing. I promise, by the time you two meet again, it'll be back to normal."  

Glóin glanced up at him, looking uncertain. "How are you so sure?"

"Because," Óin gently grasped his shoulders, bringing him closer, "I know hair and I _especially_ know yours. It always has grown quickly. Too quickly, in fact."

The corner of Glóin's mouth twitched. "'Too quickly', eh?"

Óin gave him a small smile. "Oh, aye. It's embarrassing. You try being thirty years old with a nineteen-year-old beardling brother who has longer hair than you."

Glóin looked thoughtful. Bringing his arms around, he clumsily followed the long grey locks of his elder brother's hair until it ended... below his shoulder-blades. "It's...It's the same length as yours!"

"So it is."

"Maybe...maybe it isn't too bad, after all. Could've been worse."

"Oh, indeed. They could've given you a short back and sides." Óin gently teased. Growing serious again, he reached to cup his brother's head and lightly knocked their foreheads together. "In truth, I'd rather it be your hair than your life, laddie."

Glóin stared at him and for a moment, Óin feared his brother would be upset with him, but then he sighed and gave a little nod. "I suppose that's fair enough, brother."

"'Course it is,"  Óin released him and stood back. "Now, let's see what wounds you are carrying."

* * *

 

Later on that evening, as Óin sat by the fire, Bifur on one side, dozing away, a sudden gleam of silver brought the healer's attention from his 'medicinal' drink flask and to a bone-handled knife sitting innocently on his lap. His first thought was that Nori had swiftly returned to his old tricks and looked up, ready to rebuke the little sod, only to find his brother standing beside him, looking distinctly downcast.

"Do you want me to make it even for you?" Óin gently questioned. He doubted saying the words 'cut' and 'hair' would be good for the situation and seemed to be right. Glóin nodded and eased himself down to sit between his brother's legs, like when they were children and the younger needed help braiding his hair.

"Can you kneel up for me, starling?"

He did, making the curtain of red easier to access. Firmly gripping a handful of auburn, Óin brought the blade close, cutting one strand and then pausing. This was his little brother's hair, his pride. The same hair that only he, their parents and, later on, Neoma had been allowed to touch. And here he was about to cut a good chunk of it off.

"Nadad, please. Just  cut it."

He sliced through the strands, almost wincing as he did. He could remember their father hoisting Glóin up and putting his red locks on top of the shorter hair of his child, pretending that his hair was, in fact, the hair that belonged to his youngest son, joking about how it had grown. What would Adad say if he was here right now?

Cutting through the next segment, Óin could feel him trembling and paused, gently placing a mittened hand on his brother's shoulder. "Try and keep still, starling. I don't want to take too much off."

He was quicker this time, not wanting to torture him with waiting. Taking hold of the last piece, he sliced through the hairs and  put down the knife, gently rubbing circles into his brother's shoulders. "There, lad. It's done with now."

Glóin half-turned, reaching up to where his hair now lay, forlornly swishing just below his shoulder-blades. Apparently satisfied that not too much had been removed, he surprised his brother (and probably himself) by lurching forward and grabbing his brother in a death-grip. Óin hugged him back, one arm holding his brother, while the other used its hand to stroke the shorter red hair.

"It will grow back." Glóin mumbled, voice muffled by how his face was buried in the multiple layers of wool his brother wore.

Óin nodded, using his other arm to hug his brother. "Aye, starling. It will grow back."

 


End file.
